


Murphy's Law

by extrastellar



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Frat Boy Alfred, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24591682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrastellar/pseuds/extrastellar
Summary: Arthur is single and salty, and he can't even be left in peace at a dumb frat party, but at least the bloke who interrupted his sulking is actually pretty hot. So it's just Arthur's bad luck that everything that can go wrong, does go wrong and he ends up without a name, or a number, and a mission.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Austria/Prussia (Hetalia), Canada/Ireland (Hetalia), England/Portugal (Hetalia), France/Scotland (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Kudos: 37





	Murphy's Law

The music was trashy, and the boxes sounded like they would fall apart any second with how they were butchering the bass. Arthur wrinkled his nose as he squeezed through the dancing (could it really be called dancing if they were only stepping and grinding?) masses.

He hadn’t wanted to come, but Alastair and Francois had bullied him into doing it anyway. So now here he was, at a crappy Alfred’s crappy frat party, his brother and ex-boyfriend nowhere to be seen. Because that was how sad his life was, he went to his one ex’s party at his other ex’s behest.

It was bloody pathetic, that’s what it was.

“Artie!”

Arthur’s eyeball twitched. Speak of the devil. He was tackled by 177cm of too cheerful, too loud, blond, blue-eyed, bespectacled ex-boyfriend before he could do anything about it. The contents of Arthur’s red plastic cup sloshed over and drenched his blue shirt. Arthur swore.

“I’m holding a cup, you bloody dickhead!”, Arthur hissed, and shoved Alfred off him. Alfred was absolutely unperturbed by this and simply beamed at Arthur and hit him on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, Artie!”, he chirped. It was unfair how good Alfred could look in a plain white t-shirt and washed out blue jeans, even when he was flushed with heat and alcohol. “Lemme refill that!”

“Like hell”, Arthur growled and clutched his half-empty cup to his chest. “You’re the worst bartender in existence.”

“But I get you wasted in no time!”, Alfred said, laughed and took a swig from his own cup. He shook his head when he swallowed. “Wooh! That’s the stuff!”

“Alfred”, a soft, but distinctive voice cut in and Arthur shuddered when Ivan Braginsky, Alfred’s new boyfriend (well, _new,_ they were an item for going on six months now) stepped onto the scene. Alfred’s face lit up and he placed a sloppy, drunk kiss on Ivan’s cheek, his Russian boyfriend patting his head when Alfred pulled back.

“Hi Ivan”, Arthur said through clenched teeth.

Ivan gave him an angelic smile and rested his head on top of Alfred’s, the American happily babbling away at someone next to them. “ _Privet, Artur.”_

Arthur’s eyeball twitched again. Ivan’s denial to pronounce the “th” in his name and instead go with its Slavic version shouldn’t set him off as much as it did, but it still did.

“I’m getting a new drink”, Arthur said and pushed past the two. Now, it might seem like Arthur was jealous of Ivan and still had feelings for Alfred, but that assumption couldn’t be more wrong.

Alfred’s and his breakup had been entirely mutually beneficial. Their relationship had been little more than lacklustre dates and bickering over the smallest things. They had actually gone back to being fairly good friends after breaking up and their relationship was _so much better_ that way. It wasn’t like Arthur was jealous of his brother, either. Francois and he had been dating in high school (and what a dumpster fire that had been) and Alastair had asked him out about a year ago, long after Arthur and Francois had broken up.

No, Arthur was not jealous of his exes’ new boyfriends, he was bloody _pissed off_ that _he_ was still single. He had tried everything, but this damn university was dry as hell for single people. Tinder and Grindr hadn’t worked out great either. It was just bloody frustrating and a big dampener on his already sour mood.

“Oi, Arthur!”

Arthur stopped his travel to the provisory bar and grimaced when Oisín weaved his way through to him. Great. His cousin was just the guy he wanted to see right now.

“What the fuck do you want, Oisín”, Arthur said and snatched a bottle from the counter, not even checking the contents, before pouring it in his cup.

“Didn’t know ye were a Bacardi guy”, Oisín remarked and gestured at the bottle in Arthur’s hands. He was right. Arthur hated Bacardi. Well, fuck.

“You don’t know everything, git”, Arthur snapped at him and took a big swig from his cup. He barely managed to suppress his grimace. Good lord, this was _disgusting._

“Right”, Oisín said, looking way too amused for Arthur’s taste. “Ya seen Mattie around?”

Oh, lovely. Oisín knew exactly what he was doing. _Wanker._

“No, I haven’t seen your boyfriend”, he snarled and took another swig from his cup. Suddenly, the Bacardi didn’t taste so bad anymore.

“Ach, _grand_ ”, Oisín scoffed and a mean grin started on his face that suddenly seemed very punchable to Arthur. “Need help finding yours? Oh wait –”

Arthur shot him a look more venomous than all of Australia and stomped off. Everywhere he looked, bloody couples. Francois and Alastair, the gits who had convinced him to even come here and then abandoned him at the doorstep, were making out against a wall, Feliciano Vargas was all over Ludwig again, Mathias was half-laying on Lukas, mostly drunk. And those were just the ones he could spot right now.

Arthur pushed to the actual bar (which was still only the kitchen counter of the frat house), grabbed a bottle of Bailey’s and poured the remains of it into his cup, mixing it with some cola.

“Fucking bastards”, he grumbled.

“You tell me”, the girl behind the counter said and Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. Natalia Arlovskaya was one scary woman. She stared at him, violet eyes way too wide, and Arthur decided that he was not going to deal with this on top of everything.

“R-right”, Arthur said and bolted for the door to the terrace. Unfortunately, that was also crowded with grinding, drunk students. Arthur grimaced as he squeezed through bodies, the scent of sweat and too sweet alcohol and weed permeating the air. Arthur nearly gagged at the nasty concoction – he wasn’t even remotely drunk enough to tune it out.

Then, finally, freedom.

The bass coming from the house was muted in the garden, the guests’ chatter and obnoxiously loud laughing not as ear-drilling.

Arthur took a deep breath of fresh air and dropped onto the cool lawn at the far end of the garden, at the trunk of the tree standing there.

‘I should have just stayed home.’

Arthur sipped at his drink and almost gagged. Gross. How had he been able to force any of that down his throat earlier? Or maybe the Bailey’s and cola had been overkill at the end. Right, that was probably it.

“Not in the mood for a party?”

Arthur looked over the rim of his cup and frowned at the newcomer. “What is it to you?”

The bloke huffed out a laugh and dropped onto the lawn next to Arthur, leaning back to rest his head against the tree trunk. “Just small talk, _meu amigo._ ”

Oh, _stellar._ Not only had he been disturbed in his peaceful pity-drinking, but he had been disturbed by someone who was probably a friend of Antonio’s. And sue him, Arthur had never been the biggest fan of Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

“I’m not your friend”, he said primly and wrinkled his nose. “Are you a friend of Antonio’s?”

The bloke snorted. “Thank god, no. I fled from him, actually. He’s too intense when drunk.”

Arthur agreed to that with a hum. Antonio was either extremely scary and aggressive when drunk, or obnoxiously ridiculous. Either way, intense actually described it pretty well.

“Care to share?”, the bloke asked and gestured towards Arthur’s cup.

“Be my guest”, Arthur said and handed it over, already feeling sorry for what the poor sod was about to taste.

The bloke took a sip and immediately spat it out again. “ _Ai meu Deus!_ What the fuck is in there?!“

Arthur snickered. “Vodka Bull, Bailey’s, Bacardi and cola, I think.”

The bloke gave him an incredulous look. “Mind if I pour this out?”

“Yeah”, Arthur said and snatched his cup back. “This is my pity-drink.”

The bloke hummed. “Ah. Dumped?”

Arthur shot him a sour look. “ _No._ ”

“But you’re single?”, the bloke asked and stretched, and _o-kay_ , that was a very well muscled stomach that had glimpsed out from beneath his shirt.

“What gave you that idea?”, Arthur asked and shifted. He was only realising now, the man was actually really handsome. Oh God. He was a lot tanner than Arthur (not a high bar), with half-long dark brown hair that he had tied in a loose ponytail, green eyes and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass.

“Well, you’re not inside snogging or grinding, but out here alone with a terrible drink”, the bloke said. “Seriously. Want me to get you some Ginja?”

“No, thanks”, Arthur said, then stopped, half-way to his cup. “Hold on a bloody moment. Are you hitting on me?”

The bloke smirked and Arthur was glad he was sitting down because he was suddenly weak in the knees.

‘No, no, no. Arthur. Arthur Richard Kirkland. You can’t fall arse over tit for the first smashing bloke you meet at Alfred’s ridiculous frat party.’

“Is it working?”, the bloke asked and Lord, that smile and that accent and that face made Arthur’s face flush bright red, much to his embarrassment.

“Shut up”, he grumbled and took a big swig from his cup to distract himself. The bloke laughed and wasn’t that just a beautiful sound. “Quit laughing, you donkey.”

“You’re welcome to try and stop me”, the bloke said and winked and Arthur was not that drunk that he couldn’t read the implications of that.

“Real smooth”, Arthur said and arched an eyebrow at him.

The bloke laughed again and Arthur was tempted to take the bait and just kiss him. “ _Desculpe-me,_ I did shots with Gabriel and Cheng earlier.”

The names didn’t ring an immediate bell with Arthur and the bloke realised that, despite apparently having done shots before.

“Gabriel Jansen, Emma’s and Abel’s younger brother”, he said. “And Wang Cheng, Yao’s, Mei’s and Leon’s brother.”

“Ah”, Arthur said. He still couldn’t associate faces with those names, but he did know Emma, Abel, Yao, Mei and Leon. “And what brings you out here then?”

The bloke shrugged. “Saw Oisín rile you up. Thought I’d check on you. Also, you’re pretty sweet on the eyes.”

“I sincerely hope you flirt better when sober”, Arthur said dryly.

“Challenge accepted. How does next Friday sound to you?”

Arthur smiled into his cup. “That sounds pretty good.”

“Nice”, the bloke said and stood again, dusting the dirt off his blue jeans. “I’m getting a decent drink.”

“I’ll be here”, Arthur said and lifted his cup.

The bloke smiled again and Arthur felt himself reciprocate. “Okay. See you then, _carinho._ ”

* * *

To make a long story short: Arthur fucked up. A few minutes after Mr. Peng, which was how he would refer to the bloke from now on because he was way too handsome for his own good, had left to get a new drink, Alfred had come running, absolutely _hammered_ , and decided to cry about how Michael, his youngest brother, wanted nothing to do with him, and how much he missed Michael’s dog Chomper.

Arthur, being a responsible friend, had yelled at the git, because Michael was a rude bird-flipping, sunglasses-wearing wanker to everyone _but_ Chomper, and Chomper loved Alfred. Really, the nerve of the lad to complain about that. Alfred had ended up so wasted (his alcohol tolerance _sucked_ given that he only started to drink at 21 whereas most of them could start between 16 and 18) that Arthur had to carry him back and find Ivan to take the plastered American off him. Arthur had done his fair share of babysitting drunk Alfred back during their relationship, it was Ivan’s turn now, thank you very much.

However, after he had unloaded Alfred on Ivan, Alastair had grabbed him and said they were heading home because Francois had vomited, and Alastair was, unfortunately, Arthur’s ride home and he was not willing to pay 20$ for an uber.

So now, there he was. In his dorm room, hungover, and without Mr. Peng’s name, number or even _major._

It was a tragedy and an even bigger tragedy was that Francois didn’t see it as such.

“Arthur, _mon ami_ ”, Francois said weakly from under his pillow. “Do we have to discuss this _maintenant?_ ”

“Yes!”, Arthur roused and yanked the pillow away. “Francis! Do you know him!”

Francois whimpered and pulled his sheets up to his forehead. “I am ‘ungover, Arthur, _s’il te plait._ Another time.”

Arthur stared at his useless excuse of a roommate. “This is all your fault anyway, frog. If you hadn’t honked all over Alfred’s hallway, I would have gotten a name, a kiss and some very good dick!”

Francois made a noise like he was dying. “ _S’il y a un dieu, je l’en prie, ferme sa geule._ “

“I know enough French to understand that, you prat”, he snapped and Francois only gave him the stink-eye from under his blanket. “Bloody useless, that’s what you are.”

Francois waved him off and burrowed deeper into his blankets. “Ugh.”

“Fine”, Arthur said and hopped off Francois’ bed again. “I’ll ask Alfred.”

* * *

“ _Dobroe utro, Artur.”_

Oh, bugger _him_ _._ Arthur’s eyebrow twitched as he craned his head back to look Ivan in the eye. “Good morning, _Eye-_ van. Is Alfred up?”

Ivan’s smile turned frightening when Arthur intentionally mispronounced his name. “ _Nyet_ , he’s still asleep.”

“Right”, Arthur said and moved to push past Ivan into Alfred’s dorm room, that he actually shared with his brother Matthew. “I’ll wake him.”

An arm stopped him and Ivan smiled at him. “ _Izvini,_ I can’t let you do that.”

Arthur was really getting tired of people telling him “no” this morning. “And why the bloody hell is that?”

“Hangover”, Ivan said. “And your presence gives him more of a headache on a normal day. Let’s not test it.”

Arthur quietly applauded himself for not socking Ivan in the face at that. Seriously. He deserved a Nobel Peace Prize. “Grand. Tell him he’s a bloody prat when he wakes up.”

Ivan only hummed and closed the door again.

Arthur had such shitty friends. He really needed new ones. He huffed and turned away from Alfred’s dorm. Alfred and Francois were out of commission then, Arthur would rather die before he asked his brothers – but maybe Ludwig could help him out? The guy probably kept lists on the enrolled students and he knew a lot of people too.

Arthur turned on his heel and left Alfred’s floor to go up to where Ludwig and Feliciano were living. There was an empty beer can in the lift and glitter, strangely. Arthur had quickly learned to accept these things as normal in Himaruya Hall, especially after parties. And Alfred’s frat – he never bothered to remember the exact Greek letters, it started with Alpha but there were two others – was the biggest one on campus, so here they were.

“Hey! Ludwig!”, Arthur called as he knocked at the German’s door. It was already 10am, the guy was definitely not sleeping anymore. “Ludwig, open the bloody door!”

There was noise from inside the room, then a crash and a loud German swear, followed by a near hysterical giggle. Arthur scowled. What the hell was going on?

The door was yanked open all of a sudden and Arthur jumped back when Feliciano stuck his head out.

“ _Buongiorno Arturo!_ ”, Feliciano chirped, smiling brightly as usual, but it seemed like he was suppressing a fit of laughter. “How can we help you this morning, ve~?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Uh. Is Ludwig there?”

Feliciano definitely had to stifle his laughter now. “ _Sì,_ but eh, he’s not, _come lo metto_ , available for comment?”

Arthur glanced down and he brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose when he realised what was going on. “He’s naked and mortified on one of your beds, isn’t he.”

Feliciano almost snorted. “Ah, ve~! What gave it away?”

“I don’t know”, Arthur said dryly. “The fact that you’re not wearing anything but a bedsheet at 10am?”

“Ah, Ludwig, he got us!”, Feliciano called into the room and giggled.

“Shut the damn door!”, Ludwig barked from inside.

“I’ll just leave”, Arthur said with a deep sigh and left before he had to hear any more.

This left one guy who _surely_ knew who Mr. Peng was. Even if he was Arthur’s absolute last resort. He’d rather die than ask him for advice, but alas, what choice did he have.

Arthur sighed as he pressed the button for the floor and stared at the glittery beer can. Maybe Mr. Peng was a wanker and fate had saved him from the bloke? Arthur shook his head. Nonsense.

The lift doors pinged open and Arthur made a beeline straight to Antonio Fernández Carriedo’s room. 10am, it was unlikely the prat was up already, but his roommate, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig’s older brother, surely was.

“Hey, Tapas!”, Arthur called and hit his fist against the door. “Open up!”

The door opened and Gilbert grinned at him. “If it’s not Captain Kirk!”

Arthur once again felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. “It’s never been funny, Gilbert, and it won’t start today.”

Gilbert cackled. “Ah, you Brits and your dry humour! Love it!”

Arthur refrained from correcting the self-proclaimed Prussian (“He was born in Potsdam”, Ludwig had said back when it first came up, “and he thinks East Germany sounds lame. Also, he’s a history nerd.”)

“Is Tapas there?”, Arthur asked instead.

Gilbert shook his head. “Nope! Good ol’ Anton spent the night at Lovi’s place.”

Arthur wanted to cry. He hated this. Why were all his friends and classmates so hopelessly horny?! What was Alfred always saying? _Bros before hoes?!_

“Grand”, Arthur said. “Say, do you know a Hispanic fella, bit shorter than me, maybe 1,70 or 1,72m? Longer hair?”

“Arthur, _Kumpel_ , do you even know how little that helps?”, Gilbert asked, grinning in amusement. “That description fits like at least 70 guys in this dorm alone.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Great, thanks for not helping at all. Green eyes, dark hair, doesn’t ring a bell?”

Gilbert blew a raspberry. “Could be Manuel Gónzales, could be Daniel de Irala, could be Antonio’s brother, could be Juan Sanchez, you _see_ where I’m going _._ Arthur, you gotta be more specific. Spanish or Portuguese?”

“I don’t know”, Arthur grumbled. “Sounds the same to me.”

Gilbert let out another cackle. “Duuuuude, you should _not_ say that if you want that guy to dick you down!”

“Sod off!”, Arthur snapped. “Were all of these guys at the Alpha whatever party yesterday?”

Gilbert shrugged. “No idea. Anton “would know.”

“But he’s with Lovino”, Arthur said and rubbed his temple. This was quickly becoming nerve-wracking. “Antonio’s brother would know, too, right?”

“Yu-p”, Gilbert said, popping the p. “3rd floor, he rooms with, uuuuuh, I think Yao’s brother.”

“Alright, cheers”, Arthur said. “And tell Roderich that you can see his bare arse from the doorway.”

Gilbert glanced over his shoulder, grinned and burst into laughter. “ _Oh mein Gott,_ he’s going to be so mad, _ich bin so tot._ See ya around, Arthur!”

Arthur waved goodbye and turned on his heel, once again making his way to the lift for _hopefully_ his second to last hike through Himaruya Hall today. The beer can was still in the lift, but it had been kicked over and the remnants of White Claw seeped out and filled the lift with a disgusting smell. Arthur wrinkled his nose and stepped over the puddle when the lift doors finally opened with a ping on the third floor.

“This place is a dump”, he muttered and stalked through the hallway, reading the name plates until he found what he was looking for.

> _Wang, C._
> 
> _Carriedo Fernández, T._

Arthur frowned. Wasn’t Antonio’s surname Fernández Carriedo? Probably a mistake. Americans could be pretty culture deaf. He raised his fist to knock.

No answer, no noise.

Arthur scowled and knocked again. It was almost 11 by now. Any respectable bloke who could halfway hold his liquor (unlike Alfred and Francois) should be up and about already.

“Hey!”, he called and hammered against the door when his second knock went unanswered. “Open up, you bloody twit!”

The door was yanked open and Arthur jumped back when he was met with a string of insults.

“ _Que caralho queres tu?! Estás a tentar destruir a minha porta, cabrão?! Já é de manhã, deixa-me em paz!”_

Normally, Arthur would snap right back. But things being as they were, he was looking right at Mr. Peng. Mr. Peng, shirtless, wearing only boxer shorts and a cross around his neck, with his hair down and messy from sleep. Arthur’s knees did get weak at that look.

Mr. Peng froze when he recognised him. “Ah, _porra._ ”

“Morning”, Arthur said, a grin pulling at his lips when he saw Mr. Peng’s completely gobsmacked expression. “Blimey, you’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

“ _Desculpa_ ”, Mr. Peng said. “Had a rough night. You know, I was kind of stood up by a guy.”

“About that”, Arthur said. “My ride decided to leave and I couldn’t find you.”

“Your ride?”

“My brother. Alistair.”

Mr. Peng’s eyes widened. “Ah, _merda._ You’re Kirkland’s brother?”

Arthur’s eyebrow twitched. “I’m a Kirkland myself.”

“Well”, Mr. Peng said and leant against the doorframe, looking so very glorious with all his tan skin and lithe muscle. “You never did tell me your name, _carinho_.”

Arthur wanted to smack himself. Right. This was the whole reason he had spent his entire morning trekking through the dorm. “Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. I’m an English Lit major.”

Mr. Peng smiled and held out his hand. “Tiago Carriedo Fernández. I’m a Hospitality Management major.”

Arthur blinked. “Hold on. _You_ are Antonio’s brother?”

Mr. Peng – well, no, _Tiago_ – grinned. “I mean, it does say it on the name plate.”

“But your surnames are switched? And that doesn’t sound like Spanish – is it Basque?”

Tiago rolled his eyes. “Ugh. No, it’s Portuguese. I was born in Lisbon and registered there, and in Spain, the father’s first surname comes first, in Portugal it’s the mother’s.”

Arthur nodded slowly. Right, that made sense. “I see.”

Tiago pushed off the doorframe. “Anyway, since I’m up already, wanna grab breakfast together?”

Arthur smirked. “Whatever happened to next Friday?”

“Surprise.” Tiago winked and stepped aside. “Wanna come in?”

“Breakfast is served until another thirty minutes at the dining hall.”

Tiago’s eyes shone with mischief. “Oh? Did you have anything in mind, King Arthur?”

Arthur grinned. “Why don’t you close the door and find out?”

**Author's Note:**

> I was close to just calling this "they call me tiago" because I had that dumb song stuck inside my head the entire time writing this.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  _Privet:_ Hello (Russian)  
>  _Desculpe-me/Desculpa_ : Sorry/Excuse me (Portuguese)  
>  _Carinho_ : Sweetheart (Portuguese)  
>  _Mon ami_ : My friend (French)  
>  _Maintenant_ : Now (French)  
>  _S'il te plaît_ : Please (French)  
>  _S'il y a un dieu, je l'en prie, ferme sa geule_ : If there is a god, I'm begging him, shut his trap (French)  
>  _Dobroe utro_ : Good morning (Russian)  
>  _Izvini_ : Sorry/Excuse me (Russian)  
>  _Buongiorno_ : Good morning (Italian)  
>  _Come lo metto_ : How do I put this (Italian)  
>  _Kumpel_ : Buddy/Pal (German)  
>  _Oh mein Gott_ : Oh my God (German)  
>  _Ich bin so tot_ : I am so dead (German)  
>  _Que caralho queres tu_ : What the fuck do you want (Portuguese)  
>  _Estás a tentar destruir a minha porta, cabrão_ : Are you trying to destroy my door, asshole (Portuguese)  
>  _Já é de manhã, deixa-me em paz_ : It's still morning, leave me alone (Portuguese)  
>  _Porra_ : Fuck (Portuguese)  
>  _Merda_ : Shit (Portuguese)
> 
>  **Unoffical names:**  
>  Oisín O'Reilly: Ireland  
> Alastair Kirkland: Scotland  
> Tiago Carriedo Fernández: Portugal  
> Gabriel Jansen: Luxembourg  
> Wang Cheng: Macau  
> Manuel Gónzales: Chile  
> Daniel de Irala: Paraguay  
> Juan Pedro Sánchez: North Mexico


End file.
